


ghosts

by starwalkres



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: ? - Freeform, Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Gen, No idea where this is going, Random Snippets, Slow Burn, updated irregularly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwalkres/pseuds/starwalkres
Summary: Emet-Selch hates you and loves you in equal measure.Various snippets of things I think about re: the relationship between Emet-Selch and the WoL.





	ghosts

There was no escaping you, it seemed. 

Would that Elidibus had left him to his rest - his _well earned_ rest - and had the decency to save him this once from the recurring nightmare that is you. But of course he hadn’t; the Emissary ever placed his perceived goals before aught else, including the just desserts of the only unsundered that seemed to have even a modicum of talent at sowing the chaos they so dearly needed to bring about a Rejoining. Would it be so terrible to permit him the small pleasure of a reprieve, this time around? Of course it would be. He could imagine Elidibus’ response, almost to the letter. _'The First teeters upon the very edge, but to think its demise assured ere the calamity has passed would be arrogance. The Warrior has been underestimated before, to our expense. We can take no chances.'_ Ever the worrier.

__

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_ __ _

_ __ _

Yet he could only concede that in this instance, the caution had been warranted. It should not be possible, but there you were. Plotting your course for Il Mheg far below his perch, the so-called Crystal Exarch covering your escape. And unlike your relatively ineffective comrades, _you_ were on the First in the flesh. 

A loud sigh escaped his lips (e’er the performer, in this age), one white gloved hand coming up to poise against his right cheek in a mockery of deep consideration, amber eyes lazily tracking the movement of that merry group of erstwhile Protectors of the Realm with outward boredom. Perched on the upper edge of Weathering’s armaments as he was, no one was around to appreciate Emet-Selch's vexing situation. Not even a fortnight had you been on this dying shard and already, the scales had already been tipped, the First sliding ever-so-slightly back from that precipice of destruction. He should have known. Indeed, he should have done as is his wont, and killed you the moment you landed upon this nearly-dead world. This plan had been the making of decades, and you would ruin it all in a fraction of that. Your interference should not be tolerated. This he knew. 

He purposefully directed his gaze away, fixing eyes instead on the Exarch below, teeth grinding just barely behind the soft aristocratic line of his lips. Recurring nightmare indeed, and each more terrible than the last. Emet-Selch set his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers together, thinking. 

Would that he could see you as nothing more than an enemy. Or better yet, as just one of the seemingly endless score of broken and pitiable souls aimlessly reaching for some purpose in your short little life. But of course he could not, not entirely, and he wasn't quite sure if he detested you or himself more for it. 

Still…

Seven times rejoined. Where eons ago the blue of that soul had been naught but the softest of whispers, nigh invisible amongst the masses of ghostly fragments left behind after She shattered their world to pieces, now he saw it clear as day, distinct even amongst your peers. Even from this distance, your figure all but lost beyond the heavy foliage and rolling hills that descended into fae territory, he could see it without strain. The colour was deep and calm. One may even say it was _strong_. It gave him pause.

Perhaps seven was sufficient, for his purposes. For _their_ purposes. Although he had (pointedly) kept himself in relative ignorance of your escapades, tales of the Warrior of Light in the Source were widespread enough even in Garlemald for Emet-Selch to have (reluctant) knowledge of some of your greater exploits. To say nothing of your interactions with Elidibus and Lahabrea. Your capacity for growth appeared limitless, from a mortal perspective. Over and over you had faced unbeatable odds, and over and over you had broken through them. Perhaps, this time, you could be made to see. 

This time, he considered to himself as the blue of your soul finally disappeared past the ridge of some far off hillside. This time, perhaps there would be no cause for bloodshed. Yours in particular.

Emet-Selch’s eyes returned to the now-empty horizon even as his form was enveloped by shadow. The wind picked up as he was swallowed by the dark abyss, and naught remained to mark the Ascian’s prescence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
Edited 09/25

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
